


A Soldier Without A Battlefield

by LogicalParafox



Series: STRQ Immortality [2]
Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Old Guard (Movie 2020) Fusion, F/F, F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:35:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27447223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LogicalParafox/pseuds/LogicalParafox
Summary: Sequel to 'The Choices are Stark'Summer is found, exhumed, home. Alive and physically healed if still mentally scarred by her ordeal. As she reacquaints herself with her wife and husband, Qrow feels increasingly like an unnecessary appendage and tired of hearing his teammates and family going through a second honeymoon phase, he decides to go out for a few days which stretch into a week... then months...
Relationships: Raven Branwen/Summer Rose/Taiyang Xiao Long
Series: STRQ Immortality [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2005294
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	1. The Ring

After two months of watching Summer reunite with her wife and husband, Qrow needed a break.

Not that Summer wasn’t also over the moon to see him, but it was different. All of them knew it was different. He didn’t begrudge them their happiness but…. well maybe he did begrudge them their happiness a little. Fine, he was jealous plain and simple. As much as he tried to tell himself that he shouldn’t be jealous that Summer had spent five years drowning and should absolutely be the center of their lives for the foreseeable future, Qrow just needed a drink and a bed in a house where he couldn’t hear the rest of their reuniting.

He’d be back soon anyway. They’d hardly know he was gone.

* * *

“We’d know if he was dead,” Raven said callously as Tai scanned through news reports. Qrow had left without warning and that had been almost six months ago.

“Aren’t you worried?” Tai asked, glancing up from his screen.

Raven shrugged. “Of course I am but what difference does that make? He opted to go off on his own to have fun and let us catch up. If he wanted us to know where he was, he’d let us know. _We_ aren’t the ones who went anywhere.”

Summer, tucked in against Raven’s side with her head on Raven’s shoulder, sighed. “It’s my fault.”

Raven clicked her tongue. “Absolutely not. If it’s anyone’s fault it’s Salem’s fault. Failing that it’s Qrow’s fault for not checking in sooner.”

“What if he was captured?” Summer whispered.

Raven tightened her hold on Summer, pulling her in close. “If we get the faintest inkling that he is in pain and we have no other leads, we go burn down her dark castle first thing,” Raven promised. “It’s only still standing because we wanted you to be in on the conflagration.”

“That’s so sweet,” Summer said, smiling. She leaned in to kiss Raven.

Tai could admit, privately, that probably all three of them were to blame for Qrow’s vanishing act. They had been very careless of his feelings in the rush to reunite with their long-lost leader and partner. “He’s never been one much for a quiet life and we haven’t had a mission since…”

“Since,” Summer agreed with a sigh, pushing up from the couch and beginning to pace while Raven watched her with exasperated fondness. “But what if he’s hurt?”

Raven sighed again. “You know better than any of us how hard it is to keep one of us down,” she pointed out.

Summer didn’t flinch at the reminder and Raven considered that a personal victory.

“Still, we should go look for him.”

“We are looking,” Raven pointed out, gesturing at where Tai sat, probing news sites and police reports. “Better for us to stay hidden, really. One of us making a ruckus might fly under the radar but if our whole team gets in on the action….”

“Might even bestir the wizard,” Tai said quietly.

Raven curled a lip. “And that’s the last thing we need.”

Summer sighed and sat down in Raven’s lap, burying her face in Raven’s wild hair as Raven stroked her back. “He’ll come home, right? When he’s ready?”

“Of course he will,” Raven said.

* * *

Qrow’s head hit the sawdust strewn concrete hard enough that he saw stars for a few moments, lying winded and aching on the ground as he tried to get his bearings.

His mask was cracked and he’d lost track of his weapon at some point. The concrete underneath him shuddered with the approach of the massive Grimm as the Ursa thundered toward him.

Qrow pushed aside the steady throb from his head and the lingering effects of the nearly pure ethanol he had been guzzling for months, the only thing that did enough to his system for long enough to really impair him. This was his choice and he wasn’t about to lose his life to some stupid Ursa in a pit fight.

He braced a foot as the beast closed the gap and threw himself to one side, tucking his head and putting some force behind the launch to get him out of side swiping range. He popped up to his feet, red eyes searching for his dropped sword. With his blurred vision, he had trouble spotting it in the sawdust meant to absorb the blood from the wannabe hunters who came to the training ring to pay exorbitant fees to get that real fighting experience.

Well, that was what the Ring did during the day at least.

The crowd roared as the Ursa slammed into the barrier, growling at the spectators and scraping claws against the high fence that kept it in here with Qrow.

In the moments before the Grimm turned its attention back to the only living person it could get its claws into, Qrow finally spotted the fallen sword and took off toward it in a sprint.

The movement attracted the Ursa’s attention and it whirled toward him with a snarl and began a lumbering charge to intercept him. A hunter underestimated the intelligence of the Grimm to his doom. They might look like animals and behave like them for the most part, but Salem had done her work well in making them some of the deadliest things on Remnant. The Ursa was clever enough not to run at where Qrow was but at where he was going to be.

“Fucking bear, move,” Qrow cursed as the massive black hide blocked his path to his sword. He bent his knees, changing his forward momentum into upward as he sprang forward, grabbing hold of one of the Ursa’s spikes. Qrow kicked his long legs skyward as he released, vaulting up onto the Ursa’s back as it tried to swipe at him, skidding down its flank and snatching up his sword, grinning as he whirled on his opponent.

“You’re in trouble now.”

The crowd booed and cheered, unsure if it wanted him to kill or be killed. The number of bloodstains on the concrete floor a testament to how often the Grimm won their matches.

Qrow closed the distance, slicing left then right with the inadequate sword. The Ursa would have been long dead if he had Harbinger in his hand, but if he’d brought Harbinger, he’d have been recognized almost immediately. A well-known hunter’s weaponry and fighting style were as associated with them as their name. He’d had a hell of a time changing his movements up enough to pass for a newbie hunter. With that and a mask, he was nothing but a wannabe hunter with a taste for pit fighting and a love of gambling.

The Ursa took his slashes, oozing some shadow but still on its paws as it roared defiance. Qrow grinned at the open jaws and flipped the sword, changing his grip as he reared back, launching the sword like a javelin at the roof of the Ursa’s mouth.

The Ursa’s head snapped back and it made an odd whimper as it toppled backwards, exploding into nothingness as the blade clattered to the ground.

The crowd greeted the unexpected end of the match with stunned silence then raucous applause as they cheered him.

He sauntered along the inside of the ring, leading the cheers and grinning. The mask only covered his face from nose to forehead, concealing his eyes with a birdlike mask. He’d gone against his usual inclinations and had it painted to resemble an eagle, the last thing his twin would expect him to disguise himself as. He saluted the cheering crowd with his blade and drank in the applause and the joy of being the center of attention. With his winnings, he could buy enough distilled alcohol to get through another few weeks of drunkenness.

The heavily reinforced metal gate finally clanked upward, admitting the Master of Ceremonies into the pit. “Our winner, ladies and gentlemen! The Eagle continues his winning streak! We’ll have to put him up against something unexpected next time,” she said conspiratorially, pressing a finger to her lips as if Qrow couldn’t hear her and this was some sort of secret with the crowd, never mind that she was shouting. “We’ve never had such a run of victories before!”

Qrow was glad no one could see his eyes as he rolled them. They seemed to produce a very poor level of Hunter here in Atlas if they couldn’t defeat half-mad Grimm like the ones the Ring dragged in here.

“Well that’s our show for this evening, be sure to check our noticeboard and we’ll let you know when next we will have some bouts for you to enjoy!” she cried, waving as the guards began to gently urge the crowd to disperse in a manner to avoid the attention of the authorities.

Qrow stretched, joints popping as his body healed the scrapes and bangs that came with any fight. He wore long pants and a jacket and gloves so it was well-nigh impossible to tell if he had taken any damage, the black fabric specifically chosen for its ability to hide blood.

The master of ceremonies watched the dispersing crowd for a time, then shook her head and pulled open her long coat, handing Qrow his winnings. “Sooner or later your luck’s going to run out, but if you want to keep pushing it, you’re good for business. I’m happy to have you in the Ring as often as you’re able. Oftener.” Her smile had the edge of one whose business was blood.

“Me?” Qrow asked, pocketing his money. He smiled, practically able to hear the calculations clicking along in the master of ceremonies’ head as she weighed the odds. “I’ve never once had any luck that isn’t bad.”

The master of ceremonies raised an eyebrow, gesturing at the empty pit and Qrow’s apparently uninjured self. “You’ve taken down ten massive Grimm and barely seem to have a scratch on you. You’re trying to tell me that isn’t luck? You’re mad. Or a liar. Or both. No one with bad luck would still be on their feet.” She laughed. “Or would still have feet to be on.”

Qrow chuckled and sheathed his blade. “Believe what you’d like. I haven’t had good luck since the day I was born, just ask my sister.”

“You’ve got a sister? Is she any good with a blade?”

“Of course not,” Qrow lied easily and headed through the gate, shaking his head and already doing the math on how long he could be blackout drunk with this haul.


	2. Hung Over

The scientist finally looked up when Qrow knocked on the window for the third time, rocking from foot to foot as he tried to stay warm in the frigid air, his breath fogging the glass.

With a put-upon sigh, the man put down his book and moved to the metal door with its barred window, peering out at Qrow. Qrow fought impatience as he tried to stop shivering. Damn Atlas and its damn winters.

The intercom beside the door crackled to life. “You again.”

Qrow pressed a gloved knuckle against the button on his side. “I want the usual.”

The scientist met Qrow’s eyes from behind the glass and pushed the button before giving a melodramatic sigh. “You always say that.”

“That’s what makes it the usual, doctor,” Qrow said, trying to mask his impatience.

Cold eyes stared at him through the small window for a few moments more before the man turned on his heel and stalked deeper into his lab.

Qrow blew on his fingers and decided the next time he had the money on hand he was going to buy himself a proper winter coat. The season kept getting colder and his clothes were meant for combat not for frigid temperatures.

Maybe he should go home. He had meant to take a few days off while the rest of his family enjoyed a second honeymoon, just a little breather to give everyone some space. Days had become weeks had become months, and now winter had arrived and he was still in Atlas. Still scraping by with winnings from pit fights against captured Grimm.

Qrow felt a wave of homesickness and glanced around the empty alleyway, pristine beneath the fresh-fallen snow. Damn Atlas and its order. Every surface here made him feel inadequate. He longed to get back to the more run-down areas where he spent his nights, but his supplier was here.

What was he doing here? Raven, Summer, and Tai were probably very worried about him. He hadn’t been intending to be gone so long. He should get a burner phone… find some way to drop them a message…

The door unlocked and swung wide, almost slamming into him as it swept a semicircle clear of snow.

Qrow focused on the sturdy crate the man pushed out of the lab with his foot, the heavy plastic scraping unpleasantly against the rough street. Qrow reached for it, then stopped as a shiny shoe stomped on the lid.

The doctor raised an eyebrow and extended a hand, palm out. “ou know how this goes,” he said boredly.

Qrow sighed and handed over the envelope of cash. The doctor thumbed through it faster than anyone could count but took his foot off of the crate, satisfied.

Qrow picked up the crate, the heft of it feeling like a secure bulwark against memory and thought. He smiled at the doctor and turned to go.

“If you want to try something new…” the man said, tilting his head to one side.

Qrow turned back. “Something new?”

The doctor shrugged. “It’s Atlas, someone’s always experimenting with something.”

Qrow lifted an eyebrow, then shook his head. “I’m good with this,” he said, rattling the box a little. “Keeps the operation running.”

The doctor smiled, his teeth as cold and gleaming as the fresh snow. “You’ve never really clarified just what that operation is.”

Qrow nodded, his instincts beginning to sound alarm bells. “That’s the deal, isn’t it? No questions, no answers, just business.”

“Well, if you want to bring more business my way…. There’s always someone in Atlas in need of… volunteers.”

Qrow snorted. “Clearly I’m not hard up for cash.”

The doctor slapped the full envelope against his palm and nodded. “True, but if your… test subjects want to try some new mixes, let me know.”

“If the guinea pigs decide to speak and want something new sterilizing the tools, you’ll be the first to know.”

The doctor smiled thinly and took a step back, the door slamming shut with a decisive clang, the locks clicking into place automatically.

Qrow turned and sauntered away casually, his heart racing like it hadn’t for weeks. What the hell was that?

The doctor checked the scanners, watching Qrow walk away and vanish down another alley. The mask certainly made things difficult but he was feeling extremely optimistic that the masked buyer had a connection to something important. Who would need so much medical grade alcohol apart from secret medical offices. Atlas had always harbored its share of power hungry and unscrupulous researchers but he was hopeful that the buyer had a connection to the new group he was hearing more and more rumors of, of unions between Grimm and human and faunus. Such a breakthrough… The possibilities were staggering, as were the implications.

Qrow awoke a week later with a massive hangover, the empty jars scattered around the squat informing him that he had, perhaps, overinduulged.

He staggered into the cramped bathroom, staring into his bloodshot eyes and smirking at his reflection. Maybe that squirrely doctor had a point. The amount of alcohol he had to consume kept going up as his body did its best to keep him in peak condition. Maybe he did need something else…

Qrow grimaced and splashed cold water on his face, debating the merits of seeing if the Ring was operational today and he could turn a quick profit or if he’d need to find some other means of finding his next fix.

* * *

He’d only lost a week this time, and the master of ceremonies gave him a slot in the next event in a few days’ time, with the usual dire threats that if Qrow didn’t turn up he’d never fight in the pit again.

Empty threats, Qrow knew from experience.

She also offered him a freelance gig of going out with the retrieval teams to trap Grimm for the amusements, but Qrow opted out. As much as he could enjoy fighting them in the pit, the thought of going out and trying to capture them unharmed held no appeal, despite the decent bounties she promised.

Qrow left disappointed and hungover and no richer than when he had arrived, but at least now there was something to look forward to.

* * *

Months ran together as he lived from day to day to quench his ever-growing thirst. Both extremes of his current life grew increasingly out of sorts as Qrow refused to either fall in line or fall by the wayside. His continued survival despite all odds and known physical laws inspired much consternation each time he returned hale and whole to the pit for another round or to the lab for another crate.

When the tipping point came, the only one who didn’t see it coming was Qrow.

After all, it’s not called blind drunk for nothing.


	3. Birds of a Feather

Qrow had never meant to be gone so long. He knew he should head back, but the longer he stayed on his own the harder it was to contemplate being a fourth wheel to their great immortal love story.

Qrow saluted the blank wall of his squat with his half-drunk bottle. “Alcohol,” he declared. “Alcohol can be my great immortal love.”

* * *

The nice thing about fighting Grimm was that they didn’t get blood everywhere.

The Ring had been howling for him as he faced off with a frankly impressive Death Stalker. In these tough fights he missed his team most and his favored weapon second most. The four of them could wipe out entire herds in minutes, each of them combining skills into a deadly storm that left their targets nothing but dust on the ground.

Even on his own, with Harbinger he would have sliced and diced the thing in a fraction of how long it had taken him with the plain sword, using more tricks than he usually had to resort to. Even then he’d taken a strike to the leg that had slowed him down considerably.

He’d been extra glad of his mask as he saluted the cheering crowd before doing his best not to limp badly on his way out of the pit, though he slumped onto a bench once he was out of sight of the crowds, grimacing when he saw the large tear through the leg of his pants. And his leg.

“Do you have someone who can look at that?” the Grimm wrangler asked, emerging from a back room and offering Qrow a roll of gauze. “I’d wrap it before I lost any more blood if I were you,” the man said, leaning in closer.

Qrow snatched the roll. “Thanks,” he said gruffly, forcing himself to his feet and heading for the bathroom. “Yeah, I’ve got a doctor I can get to patch me up.”

The wrangler gave him an odd look but didn’t push the issue any longer.

Qrow shut the door between them firmly before daring to push down his pants. The hole had healed to a deep dimple, no longer even bloody. Of course his body would choose now to regain some semblance of its usual healing speed.

He carefully wiped up what was left of the blood on his leg and dabbed more from his soaked pants to mar the pristine whiteness of the gauze he wrapped around his healed leg for appearances before pulling his pants back up, adjusting the bandages until the bloodstains showed.

Qrow washed his hands and looked at his reflection. “You’re getting old.”

The wrangler accepted the remainder of the gauze, lifting an eyebrow. “I’m sure someone could walk you home. That venom isn’t anything to mess with.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“You always are.”

* * *

Qrow stayed away for several weeks that time, keeping sober for once as he kept a sharper eye out than usual for any sign of a tail or a watcher.

After two weeks of nothing and moving his base of operations enough times that he felt safe again, Qrow sauntered back into the pit one afternoon, eagle mask in place. “Got any openings tonight?”

* * *

The pickings had been slim, a single Boarbatusk not yet claimed for the entertainment of the evening, but he slew it with enough flourish that he earned some hearty cheers and a promise of better pickings later in the week now that they knew he was back on his feet.

“You were out of touch so long we worried the venom might have done you in,” the master of ceremonies teased, offering him his share of the take on his fight.

“I said I was fine,” Qrow responded curtly, counting the notes. Not enough to keep him in booze but if he had a better fight soon…

“You always say that though,” she pointed out. “It’s hard to believe you when it’s what you always say.”

“Have I ever not been fine?”

“No,” she admitted with a sigh, then smiled at him. “You could leave us a contact number. An address? A name that isn’t an alias…”

“Surely I’m not the only one here who prefers to keep things anonymous master of ceremonies.”

She rolled her eyes and reached up for his mask. “I don’t see why you insist on this even with me. Haven’t I been a good employer?”

Qrow stepped back out of reach. “I appreciate your usual lack of questions,” he pointed out dryly. “I’ll be back in a few days when you have something more interesting for me to fight.”

“We’ve got our people out finding new enemies now.”

“See you later then.”

“See you.”

* * *

Qrow needed to stop opening his mouth and letting his luck run wild.

It hadn’t occurred to him that there might be juvenile Nevermores small enough to be viable in the pit. He’d never realized that the Ring had force fields in place behind the walls of the pit, forming a complete dome to isolate him in here even with a flying foe while keeping the spectators safe from launched feathers.

More than ever he missed Harbinger as he tried to strategize how to take down the flying target in between dodging hails of feathers. He could hear the muffled cheering and excited chatter that meant betting was heating up. All for the better, he definitely deserved a week of drinking after he took down the feathery nuisance with nothing but a highly inadequate sword.

The Nevermore swooped down with a screech, red eyes fixed on the white-painted mask concealing Qrow’s face, talons outstretched as it snatched at him.

Qrow snarled a triumphant curse as he held steady until the last minute, throwing himself to one side as the talons just barely mised their grip and the wing struck him instead, heavy feathers slamming into him as he grabbed, slashing upward toward the bone, teeth set in a grimace as he hacked.

The Nevermore screamed in pain, staggering back away from him and lashing out with its beak. It caught his scalp and he felt blood begin to gush, accursed head wounds bled so much.

The Grimm backpedaled and crouched, launching itself upward again clumsily, the wing he’d damaged making the thing lurch sideways when the feathers failed to catch the air correctly. It crashed on the other side of the pit with a screech of pain and defiance, whirling to face him, murder in those gleaming eyes.

“It’s bird versus bird here tonight, Ringleaders,” the announcer cried. “Both bloodied and earthbound. Who will be at the top of the pecking order? Get your bets in before the loser falls if you want to be able to claim your winnings!”

Qrow usually managed to tune out the tasteless chatter but that bird versus bird… someone would pay for that.

He was glaring up at the darkness, trying to see the announcer who had said it, when a roar from the crowd barely preceded a thud and a wave of pain.

Even grounded it had managed to hop high enough to launch a barrage of feathers while he was distracted. Qrow was just lucky only one of them had found flesh. Groaning, he clapped a hand to the puncture, feeling broken ribs and the sudden feeling of a collapsing lung.

Damn bird.

He wrenched out the feather and threw it aside, clamping his hand over the wound. He could feel the bone knitting already, he just hoped no one in the crowd had a good enough angle to realize how serious the wound should have been. Qrow regretted cutting back on his drinking out of paranoia. He was too healthy, his body healing too quickly tonight.

He focused on his foe, keeping one hand pressed to the wound, feeling the flesh knit together as he gauged distances. The Nevermore kept trying to get airborne, screeching and trying to fire more feathers at him as he stalked toward it, closing the distance as it scrambled.

He could respect that the Grimm shared his belief in going down fighting.

The Nevermore charged before he hit the center of the pit, beak striking out. If he’d been as injured as he should have been, it might even have been enough to net the win.

In respect for a strong fighting spirit, Qrow took its head in one brutal swing, taking his hand away from his side and carving up and through feathers and dark flesh.

The Nevermore managed a last cry, which just went to show that the Grimm also shared his appreciation for spectacle.

The crowd erupted with screams and chears as Qrow saluted them with his blade, the Nevermore already breaking down into dust and shadows as he accepted his accolades, raising his sword and keeping his other hand against his side to conceal the lack of wound.

* * *

Qrow had a jacket on and was wiping the blood off of his face before any of the staff made it to him, waving off their insistence that he get patched up and assuring them that he’d had much worse and his friend would see him right.

The master of ceremonies took her sweet time arriving with his winnings, giving him an odd look as she handed over the money, then smiled. “An excellent show. I wish you’d work more regularly… you’d be a star attraction.”

“No thanks,” Qrow said. “I like my freedom.”

“You really are a bird. No love of cages and safety?”

Qrow laughed. “Like anyone who gets in the Ring on a regular basis has any appreciation for safety, yourself included.”

“Fair enough,” she agreed, reaching into her pocket and offering him another fold of bills. “A bonus, for showing up when you said you would. You put on a damn good show out there.”

He flipped through it in surprise, his fingers quick as he counted, then tucked it away, a wider grin crossing his face. “You’ve just made me a very happy man, but now I need a doctor and some sleep. Same time next week?”

“If I don’t see you sooner! Get some rest in the open air. Yours weren’t the wings clipped today.”

“Me? Never.”


	4. Into the Ring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WIP ends on a cliffhanger, the rest of the scene will arrive tomorrow.

The doctor had his crate ready. “I expected you earlier,” he said by way of explanation as he handed it over, glancing nervously up and down the empty street.

“Scheduling,” Qrow said with a shrug, hefting the crate and trying not to salivate at the delicious sloshing sound from inside, the muffled clink of glass bottles holding enough oblivion to get Qrow through a week of peace.

The doctor glanced around again, then smiled thinly. “Are you sure you don’t want to try something new? A little expensive but it’s proving a very effective cleaner. It was meant as an anesthetic but it turned out far too potent. Still, it’ll sterilize equipment in no time at all.”

Qrow perked up. “How much?”

The named price was doable, though it would eat up his bonus. Lucky for once.

Qrow set down the crate and dug out the requisite bills, handing them over with a smile. “If we like what it is I’ll let you know.”

The doctor nodded and ducked back inside, bringing back another bottle and sliding it into the crate with the rest. “I hope it’s everything you need.”

The doctor was behaving suspiciously… Qrow would have to look into that later. It could be nothing more than a mostly law-abiding citizen worried about the authorities finding out about his literally back alley dealings. “Thanks again.”

“Pleasure doing business with you.”

* * *

Qrow made it several days with his usual fare before he gave into temptation and cracked into the new one. He sniffed cautiously and wheezed, grinning as it made his eyes water. “Potent indeed.”

Well, worst case scenario it did internal damage and he was laid up healing instead of enjoying the pleasures of inebriation. Best case he found a new level of drunkenness to drift along on.

With a smile, he tipped the bottle back, savoring the burn that scorched his throat.

The world blurred around him and he let go eagerly, fumbling to cap the bottle before succumbing to soft oblivion.

Qrow heard angry growls and tried to look around, groggily wondering how Beowolves had gotten into his squat.

Blissful numbness gave way reluctantly, freeing his extremities first from the drifting warmth of calm serenity. Qrow clenched his hands as feeling returned, stomach twisting inside him as the stuff finally faded from his system. His head came down last, bringing with it extreme regrets and a vicious hangover. He felt as though he had been shot in the head. Several times.

Qrow groaned, trying to grip his forehead, hoping not to feel broken bone.

Nothing happened.

Qrow tried to open his eyes, to move, but darkness remained, his arms pinned at his sides. Had the building collapsed? Maybe that was why he felt so compressed. Maybe the new stuff hadn’t been that good after all.

Qrow’s disappointment gave way to alarm when he heard an amused laugh.

Through his aching head, he had to admit his eyes were open and some of the pressure on his head might be a blindfold.

Qrow tried to move again, the fizzing numbness of his skin giving way enough that he realized he was sitting upright in a chair and he was tied down at every joint, his hands trapped inside something that wouldn’t let him open his fingers from tight fists. Whatever held him barely gave as he fought, everything sturdy enough to not even creak.

“Welcome back,” an oddly familiar voice said.

Qrow recognized the musical voice of the master of ceremonies and dread wrapped icy fingers around his throat. “If you wanted my body you could have just asked,” he rasped, throat dry and voice hoarse. “What’s going on?”

“You’ve been holding out on me,” she chided, tapping fingers on his bare forearm. “I’d wondered a time or two but-”

Qrow hissed in surprise as something slashed his arm beside where she was touching. He felt the familiar pain fade as his flesh healed. Cold sweat broke out over his brow as the pain vanished, a betrayal of what he was.

He let his head fall back as he groaned softly. Raven was going to kill him.

* * *

“Don’t bother trying to escape,” the master of ceremonies went on. “We’ve got a lot of experience keeping powerful animals under lock and key.”

“Not ones with thumbs.”

“Would yours grow back if we cut them off?” she asked silkily, genuine curiosity in her voice.

Qrow tensed.

“…That’s not a no… interesting. I wonder if you don’t know or if you just don’t want to tell me…” She tapped his arm again, slowly circling his imprisoning chair.

“You can’t keep me here forever. Sooner or later I’m going to break out and I’m going to have to kill you.”

She gasped in mock horror. “Oh no, I hadn’t thought of that! I’ll have to let you go right now in that case!”

Qrow regretted that the blindfold kept her from seeing that he was rolling his eyes at her. “You’re a very bad actress.”

“And you’re awfully talkative for someone dead. Enjoy the darkness for a while as we decide how best to make use of your very active corpse.”

He heard a door slam and cursed under his breath at having let her get the last word. Qrow was off balance, strapped to a chair and exposed in more ways than one. Where had it all gone wrong?

Qrow acknowledged to himself that he had been taking far too many stupid risks of late. He just hoped he hadn’t put the rest of his team at risk…. The rest of his team…. he needed to find a way out of here before the pit runners actually killed him and drew the rest of his team in for a rescue. He’d never hear the end of it if they actually swept in to save him from back alley thugs running an underground Grimm fighting ring.

Damn, he really was going to need to find an escape route now.

* * *

“There’s your escape route,” the earpiece told him as he waited for the chains to come off. The pit organizers had been annoyingly correct that they were highly skilled in the area of keeping highly dangerous captives… captive.

They handled him from a distance, using electricity and tranquilizers that kept even Grimm down to knock him out before making any changes to his accommodations.

Apparently after a few weeks they’d figured out what to do with him. Qrow could hear the chattering crowd as he waited in darkness behind a locked gate. Through the metal grille he could see the pit. Apparently, they’d decided they might as well make some money on him.

Qrow had come to with a helmet locked on his head and his hands trapped in steel handguards around the hilts of two long knives, preventing him from dropping them. All in all the arrangement was rather awkward.

He wanted to tell them that if they wanted a good showing in the pit they should at least let him get used to his armaments, but they’d gagged him under the helm, so he waited, silently fuming. If they thought he was going to meekly fight for their amusement, they had another thing coming.

* * *

Qrow’s brilliant plan to simply not emerge when they opened the gate and let him loose from his tethers collapsed quickly even for one of his doomed plans.

As he stood smug and defiant, the gate in front of him dropped, as did the chains holding his wrists. His hands were still locked to the blades but at least he could move a little more freely. He rolled his shoulders and turned to inspect the door behind him. Perhaps he could hack through the lock and be out of here in a few minutes.

Through the narrow field of vision, the locked helm offered, Qrow saw only darkness and wondered if he’d killed his night vision by peering into the well-lit arena until glowing red eyes opened. Damn.

Qrow charged into the arena to the roar of the crowd, pursued by a trio of Ursa this time, roaring and snarling and hungry for his blood.

He sprang up, aiming for the gap above the barrier as the crowd gasped, clearly unused to the sorts of things true Hunters could do… and slammed into a force field. Electricity arced through him, smoke rising from the helm as it heated, burning his skin.

He hit the sawdust-strewn floor of the pit, smelling smoke and burnt hear as people in the crowd laughed and jeered and the Ursa closed in.

Qrow took several slashes before he managed to block, damn the helmet for limiting his view. The crowd noise faded out of notice as he focused on winning. Survival was a given, but if they tore him limb from limb and he stood up again, even the dimmest bulbs in the crowd would figure out some of what he was, as would his captors.

Damn.

Qrow darted between two of the Ursa, dancing out of reach of the third before slicing up with the first knife, shearing claws from a vicious paw before diving out of the way. The helmet threw off his balance, as did having to fight with two weapons, but he thought he had decent odds.

The sliced Ursa roared defiance as the other two charged at him, sweeping wide and crashing toward him from opposite sides in a credible pincer, driving him back against the wall. At the last minute he dove forward into a roll as they barely dodged each other, whipping around to stare at where he had been.

Qrow kept moving, aiming for the Ursa that was down one set of weapons, punching aside its first swipe with his metal-covered fist and wincing as the inadequate metal crumpled under the impact, crimping against his knuckles and further hampering his movements.

Still, it reared back in pain, shaking its massive paw and Qrow seized the opportunity to run up its chest and catch the bear’s neck between his blades, biting down hard on his gag as he forced the blades through the dark flesh, cleaving off its head.

The body dissolved under him and he landed in a crouch and took off running as the other two thundered toward him on all fours.

Damn the pit runners for giving him such inadequate weapons. The sword had been flimsy compared to his Harbinger but at least it had been sharp. He might as well be flailing at the damn things with sticks.

Even through the helmet he heard the roar as one of the Ursa closed with him and he tried to crouch to get under its swipe. The paw caught the helm and nearly tore his head off as the force slammed into the metal.

Qrow was knocked off his feet and across the pit, ears ringing as managed to push himself up in time to see the two Ursa charging at him again.

Raven was going to be so smug when they found him after this death. Qrow closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable.


	5. Down But Not Out

Sheer stubborn competitiveness pushed some strength back into his limbs. He would beat these damn Grimm or die trying. Or both.

He scrambled to his feet and ran at the larger of the Ursa, whose charge faltered in surprise, clearly not used to its prey coming to it.

Qrow could feel his body healing, more of his vitality returning as he bent his knees, launching himself to one side and twisting. The helmet threw off his balance a little but he managed to regain his feet behind the Grimm as it thundered past.

The crowd roared its approval, and he had little doubt that the master of ceremonies was listening and rubbing her hands together greedily. Qrow was giving them precisely the kind of show they hungered for.

The pair of Ursa circled back warily, growling as they attempted to corner him again, large paws raising small puffs of dust as they lumbered in.

Damn the short knives. he moved into a low stance, holding his ground for now as he waited to see which one would close with him first, forced to turn his head from side to side slightly to compensate for the limited range of vision provided by the helm.

The Ursa on his left stopped advancing to roar menacingly, digging its claws into the floor of the pit. Proving that Grimm were more than capable of strategy, the other Ursa took advantage of this to charge in. The spectators fell into a hush, letting the roar echo, the only sound the pounding paws of the Ursa charging in from his right.

Qrow, professional Hunter with many years of experience, opted not to engage with the thundering mass of potential energy and launched himself at the Ursa on his left who was sucking in air and watching to see its companion tear the troublesome opponent apart.

Qrow’s sudden lunge caught it off guard and he managed to slash across its eyes. The Ursa reared back, roaring in pain.

Damn the helm. Qrow had to whip his head around to see what the other Ursa was up to and found it rearing up over him, massive paw already descending in a swat.

Chewing on the gag and wishing he could spit curses, he threw himself into a roll, tucking his shoulder and managing enough momentum to get his feet under himself despite the unbalancing force of having his head wrapped in metal.

Qrow backpedaled, getting both Ursa in his view. The blinded Ursa had backed up against the wall of the pit, snarling and rubbing its face with its massive paws. The other watched Qrow warily, advancing slowly and snarling frequently.

The crowd shouted itself hoarse, in a frenzy of excitement now that the supposed execution had turned around so precipitously. Qrow tapped his metal-sheathed fist against his helm when he spotted the master of ceremonies watching him and charged at the uninjured Ursa.

The Grimm roared, rearing up onto its hind legs, paws and claws smashing down at the charging human. They encountered air. Qrow came out of his roll behind the Grimm’s flank, using the knives to help him scale the thing’s back as he scrambled up the raging Ursa.

It dropped to all fours, shaking itself to fling off the intruder, but Qrow jammed the blades under the plating on the massive back, hunkering low. When the Ursa paused to reassess, Qrow drove one of the knives into its back, twisting his wrist and snapping the poorly made blade free of the metal sheathing his hand.

The Ursa roared, rearing back, and Qrow shoved himself away, watching with satisfaction as the Ursa tried to smash its rider… only to drive the blade deeper into itself. With a last pained noise, it began to dissolve.

Bruised and panting, Qrow approached the final Ursa, its head sweeping from side to side as it tried to listen for him.

He broke into a run, launching himself up into a leap and coming down blade first into the Ursa’s neck. It roared once in pain before collapsing and joining the other two in beginning to dissolve.

The seats were silent for a long moment before wild cheering broke out over the groans from those who had clearly bet against the human in a three on one fight. Fuck ‘em.

Qrow wished dearly he could deliver some pithy lines and maybe curse all of their names, but the gag held and the helm was still firmly affixed.

He flinched when everything suddenly went black, belatedly recognizing that the hissing sound had been a cover to the pit irising closed. Qrow looked around warily, trying to peer into the narrow slit of darkness the helm afforded him. Too late he registered the quiet sound of a tranquilizer gun as something nailed him between the shoulder blades and a truer darkness swallowed him.


	6. The Pit Crumbles

As much as Qrow enjoyed eliminating Grimm, the pit had grown well and truly tiresome.

He lost some of the matches, coming to back in the cell where they kept him when he wasn’t in the pit. Generally, they left him buckets of water to clean up with after he’d lost, better wages than when he won and was simply locked up again without the extra perks and with a tranquilizer headache to boot.

It was time and past to make tracks and shake the sawdust of this place from his feet.

If his teammates hadn’t come for him by now, that meant he must be on his own.

* * *

Qrow smiled under his locked helm as he hefted the pair of sickles they had given him.

Based on the announcements he could hear even from his cell, the story they told their crowds was that those with debts to the ring could choose to go into a certain death bout to settle their accounts, win or lose. Winning even came with a modest prize and a chance to fight another day. Either way, the crowds enjoyed a bloody bout where the odds were heavily stacked in the favor of the Grimm.

The debtors wore “penitence helms” to protect their identities of course. The ring was honorable and would not expose those in debt.

Thus far the ploy appeared to be working and there had been no outcry that the fighter was the same each time. Qrow’s handlers put effort into dressing and arming him differently each time.

His good behavior and seeming docility had earned him more slack, or perhaps they were simply lazy. Though they were careful to keep him gagged when he was in the ring, they’d done away with attaching his hands to his weapons. After all, if they did away with that little wrinkle, it was far easier to pretend he was a different fighter each time as they provided him with various exotic weapons or even sometimes just a crude club. That had been his quickest death.

Tonight they had equipped him with sickles and sent him out to face his foe. The ring hadn’t bothered with chains for the last few bouts and he had done nothing to disabuse them of the notion that he was tamed.

Qrow kept his head forward as his eyes scanned the ring. No telltale flicker of the shield today and the crowd was fairly empty. Most likely something simple then. Qrow spun the sickles around his hands as he paced the ring, waiting.

* * *

If Qrow hadn’t already intended to wipe out anyone working for or associated with the Ring, he would have done so after this match.

Whatever ambitious soul had managed to capture a flock of Ravagers deserved Qrow’s personal thanks and to die as he might soon: of a thousand little cuts.

Qrow dripped blood from a number of slashes, mostly on his back where the helm enforced one hell of a blindspot.

* * *

The wound of the shield coming online had been barely enough warning. Something whooshed overhead and Qrow tipped his head back to find that, instead of the shield forming a dome, he stood at the base of a pillar reaching the ceiling… and a canister up near the ceiling had opened like a flower, revealing at least 50 juvenile Ravagers now screeching and flapping and swarming. Some attempted to swoop at the spectators, only to screech and tumble as they struck the shield.

Qrow, not one to waste an opportunity, darted forward to slash the stunned Grimm as they fell.

His motion drew the attention of the swarm, their numbers barely reduced by his handful of eliminations and Qrow found himself engulfed.

He slashed indiscriminately with the sickles, blinded by an ambitious one that had latched onto the front of his helm and was attempting to lift him off the ground by his head. Happily, the Ring hadn’t managed to get adults and Qrow managed to swat that one away.

Swarming as thickly as they were, he winnowed down their numbers quickly in those first minutes but the bout had become one of attrition as the survivors grew warier, adopting distraction tactics to draw his attention while another group swarmed his back, slashing and biting and attempting to stun him with their sonic shrieks.

The helm kept him on his feet though his head throbbed. No wonder tonight’s event hadn’t drawn much of a crowd. The fight was a drawn-out bloodbath and the Ring set up gave the Ravagers far too much advantage.

Qrow wished fervently for Harbinger and the aerial capacities it provided. The last dozen or so Ravagers kept out of reach for the most part, screeching and squawking as they flapped and swooped in dizzying patterns.

“Finish it!” someone in the crowd called and Qrow was fairly certain they weren’t talking to him.

The hum of the shields altered and the crowd began to cheer again as a flat disc of shield began to descend, forcing the Ravagers down.

Qrow grinned inside his helm, head tipped back to watch as the swarm balked and spiraled, their sonic screeches doing nothing against the shield.

They turned as one to regard Qrow with ire and the whole flock went into a steep dive as he braced his feet.

The first few went down easy, a few slashes with the sickles, but the rest made it past, clinging to his back where he had a harder time reaching them, one latching onto the back of his calf and tearing into his flesh.

Qrow grunted in pain and twisted for a better view before spiking the biter on one of his sickles, ignoring the pain as the rest tore into his already heavily lacerated back.

He staggered as one tried to deafen him, screeching directly at the side of his helm. He managed to swat that one away with a hand and slice it in half as it arced away from him. He threw himself back into the shield, snarling with satisfaction as the Grimm clinging to him squealed in pain, several of them dropping, stunned, their talons and beaks red with his blood. He sliced them apart, his head spinning.

How many were left? Two hovered above him warily, keeping below the still-descending shield but out of his range, for now. He paced back and forth, impatient, then jumped in surprise as something sank long talons into the nape of his neck.

The gag muffled his cry of pain as the Ravager that had clung to his helm took its shot, biting at the unyielding metal and making Qrow’s bones rattle as it hit him with wave after wave of sonic attacks. He managed to knock it loose at last and cut it down, his pained gasps echoing loud within the helm.

Qrow grunted as the last two dove at him, slashing and biting and focusing on his right arm. One of them latched onto his bicep, biting chunks out of his shoulder while the other attempted to wrest the sickle out of his grip, little feet wrapped around the handle as it beat its wings furiously.

Qrow roared in pain and rage, hacking at them with his other hand, hitting himself a few times in his frenzy but at last wiping them out.

He stood dazed and shaking with adrenaline as some scattered applause met his lackluster victory.

Qrow blinked rapidly, trying to clear his head. The stands were mostly empty, the Grimm vanquished, though he continued to drip blood. He staggered, caught himself, staggered again, and collapsed, the helm clanging against the bloody floor of the pit.

* * *

The master of ceremonies blinked, then led the crowd in applause for the gallant debtor who had barely managed a win before succumbing. She signaled for her crews to clean up and haul the undying Ring champion off to his box until his next bout.

“Well, they can’t all be as exciting as that first round,” she announced to laughter and applause and settled in to mingle with her top spenders, accepting their congratulations and making note of their desires and critiques.

Several complained that they had to actually trek all the way here, physically, but she pointed out that broadcasting the matches would put everyone at more risk of discovery.

Better, she insisted, to keep things quiet and only for… discerning audiences.

The scroll in her pocket began to buzz and she excused herself, glancing down at her assistant’s face and number on the screen before answering.

“This is a bad time.”

“Worse, ma’am, he’s loose.”

“What?”

“He was playing dead this time, apparently blood loss isn’t enough. He killed the two that were dragging him and he’s loose, we can’t find him on the maps.”

Swallowing her panic, she waved farewell, excusing herself for important work questions as she ducked away from the milling crowd and shut herself into the control booth.

“Track the damn helmet”

“He got it off somehow, we found it in one of the Grimm cages when we tracked it.”

“We have cameras on every inch of this place! How can you have lost him?”

“He’s taking out the cameras, ma’am. Faster than…”

“Faster than what?”

“The corridor monitor…” Her assistant’s voice dropped to a whisper.

“What about it?”

The master of ceremonies heard a door slam and the beginnings of a scream cut off abruptly. She listened, frozen, as footsteps came over the line, then the sound of something brushing against the scroll.

“Ah, it’s you.” Qrow’s voice was husky with disuse and his recent gagged shouting. “I just wanted to let you know how much I’ve enjoyed these past months. Personally.”

The master of ceremonies clutched her scroll so hard she thought she would shatter it. “You can’t do this.”

“You forget who you’re talking to… well… I guess you never knew who you were talking to. Well, I hope you and all your fancy guests enjoyed watching the show, you’re about to get a much better view.”

She could barely hear the line cutting out over the sound of her own racing heart. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go…No, no she could still get out of here. He was down in the monitor room, there were all kinds of safety precautions to keep any escaped Grimm contained. He wouldn’t be able to get up here that easily. She had time to get out.

She shoved the scroll back into her pocket, hands shaking with panic as she pulled up the lockdown controls, intending to seal off the underground portions of the Ring… but the system had locked her out.

She entered the password again and got the same error message. “No,” she snarled, trying the override and getting the same message. She watched in horror as the lock statuses began to change, the doors she had been counting on to keep him underground flicked from red to green. It occurred to her too late what he was doing, the exit doors flicking from green to red.

The master of ceremonies bolted for the nearest exit, slamming against it and rattling the latch. “No!”

“What’s wrong?” one of the donors asked, complacent and smug and drunk on blood sport and hard alcohol. “Forgot your keys?”

She didn’t bother to answer, racing along the upper tiers and trying the doors to the viewing boxes, desperate for an out, a safe haven.

“Oh, is there another round?” someone asked.

The master of ceremonies turned, staring at the well-illuminated ring and the fighter standing there, a smirk on his face and a long scythe in his hands.

“No…” she said softly as he launched himself up out of the ring, cutting down the unlucky spectators like they were nothing but his harvest.

She sank into a seat as he approached, his clothes dyed red with blood.

“Generally, I prefer killing Grimm,” he said conversationally. “Far less bloody. But you and your crew have tried my patience and now it’s time to reap what you have sown.”

She stared up at him as the scythe whistled through the air.

* * *

Qrow muttered to himself as he headed out of the charnel house he had made of the Ring in ill-fitting shoes, by far the worst part of this entire misadventure.

Behind him the flames should be engulfing the underground, burning away evidence of him. He’d spread enough accelerants around that there should be very little left by the time the fire was found and controlled. He’d wiped the computers, then burned them out with electrical Dust, and now he just had to track down the last few employees who hadn’t been on duty tonight and he could head home with no one alive on Atlas the wiser.

* * *

Raven sat on the steps of the house, watching him as he approached. It had started to rain as the ferry reached Patch, of course, and he was soaked to the bone.

“Took you long enough,” she said lightly.

“I was about to say the same thing to you,” he grumbled, coming to a halt once he was under the porch awning with her and out of the rain at last.

“Did you want a rescue then? every death we saw came with some pretty loud shouting that you didn’t want us to interfere.”

“Did it?”

“Didn’t it?”

Qrow sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “No, it probably did. I’ve never been the sharpest but I’ve always been damn stubborn.”

She tipped her head to one side. “Did you have fun wiping them out at least?”

Qrow lifted one shoulder and let it drop.

Raven smiled and opened the door, letting warm golden light and delicious smells waft out. “Summer made all of your favorites.”

“Qrow!!” Summer cried in greeting.

Tai vaulted over the couch and swept him up in a bear hug. “Welcome back!”

“You’re worse than the Ursa!” Qrow complained, struggling half-heartedly.

“And you’re shivering! Go get cleaned up and then we’ll have dinner,” Tai said with a grin.

“We missed you while you were off having adventures without us,” Summer grumbled, though her smile was nearly as warm as the fire crackling in the hearth, thawing him out.

“I didn’t mean to be gone so long,” Qrow said, smiling back at her.

Tai thumped him on the back, nearly knocking him flat. “At least leave a note next time!”

Qrow punched Tai in the shoulder with a snort. “And risk having to share some of the glory? Never.”

Raven wrapped a hand around the back of Tai’s neck and steered him away from Qrow. “Go help your wife in the kitchen so she can come over without worrying that anything will burn.”

Tai laughed and went.

Raven looked Qrow up and down, hands on her hips. “I’m assuming we don’t need to do any further clean up?”

“All taken care of.”

Summer approached, having turned monitoring of the various kitchen tasks to Tai for the moment. She wrapped her arms around Qrow and gave him a harder squeeze than Tai, even though she was less ridiculously muscled than the blonde. “We’re always free to make our own choices but…” she looked up at him, her silver eyes haunted. “A note? Please?”

Qrow tried not to flinch as the guilt he had been trying to outrun sank its talons into his heart. “Sorry, Summer,” he said quietly, hugging her back.

“I’m sorry too, we’ll try to be less…”

“No, no, you deserve your happiness. No matter how loud.”

Summer snorted and hugged him again before wrinkling her nose and stepping back, looking down at her now-wet apron. “Go get dried off and comfortable, dinner should be ready soon.”

“Yes ma’am,” he teased.

“And Qrow?”

“Yeah Summer?”

“Welcome home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you have enjoyed this second installment of STRQ Immortality! Nanowrimo continues as this last chapter represents day 12/30.


End file.
